Far More Glorious
by Les Mots de Meaux
Summary: Ariadne did hate making decisions, but this one was rather...important.


**A/N: Many apologies for not updating anything recently. I have not forgotten them, promise.**

**A/N 2: This was inspired by the Greek myth of Theseus and the Minotaur. As you may recall, according the Greeks, Ariadne was the daughter of King Minos who aided Theseus in defeating the Minotaur. Also, this is meant in no way to be religious. The use of the word "gods" is in reference to the ancient Greek gods and the way people regard them. I do not mean to imply God (or however He is named in your religion). **

**Disclaimer: I do not own **_**Inception**_**, nor am I in any way affiliated with Christopher Nolan or others involved. I also do not own the myth of Theseus. I own only my idea and the arrangement of the words upon this page.**

Ariadne did not particularly enjoy having to make decisions.

Of course, she had had to make several in the past. She had been forced to choose a major, to choose a college, to choose her _life_. She was content with those choices.

She would even go so far as to say that she was content with choosing to become an Architect alongside Dominic Cobb and his team. Originally, she had doubted the idea of the possibility of infiltrating dreams, deeming it simply impossible. But once she had seen it, she had believed it. Funny, for she knew that seeing was not always believing (or so the old adage said).

Even now, as she was back in her flat in the student quarter of Paris, Ariadne was content. She had a one-room flat in a relatively good area of the quarter, close to many of her favorite cafes and bookstores. Some of her friends lived right down the street. Yes, she was content.

But she was not happy.

Returning to a normal life, a life without the wonderful, awe-inspiring world of dreams, was harder than she had imagined. She was, in essence, addicted. To dreaming.

Yet, Ariadne quickly found that she no longer could dream. It was not that she did not have the ability. She was sure that if she was tired enough and willing enough, she would dream.

She simply did not want to relinquish the control.

When working on the mission, the inception of Robert Fischer Jr., Ariadne had had full control over her dreams. She was the Architect, after all. Her very task, her job, was to control the world of the dream, to create a place believable enough for the subject to submit to the goals of the mission.

In a dream apart from the technology of Dominic Cobb's team, she had absolutely no control. The world was not of her making. Structures and people would appear at total random, and she could do nothing to stop them from rising up from the ground.

The people in her ordinary dreams walked right on by her when she passed them on the streets. They did not stop to regard her, unasked questions alight in their eyes. They did not nudge her; they did not push past her.

But in the dream state, the world of her own making under the guidance of Cobb, the people would stare at her. Their cold eyes would bore into her skin, creeping into her space and ruining whatever sense of calm or tranquility that she had had.

Ariadne rather liked being noticed.

She supposed it was rather vain, to wish to be regarded by even such artificial personas as were her projections. Her projections…They were a part of her indeed.

Being in the dream state, without her projections, felt like losing part of herself. It was as if part of her soul had left her, separated from her body. A forced lobotomy, conducted with the cruelest of tools. It was a sudden withdrawal, like abruptly quitting the condemned act of smoking. She knew she ought not to feel so…_attached_ to these feeble projections of her mind. It was wrong, to feel so wanting of attention that she should want it of her own mind.

Before the job, before Robert Fischer Jr., before Dominic Cobb…

…she would have laughed herself silly over such a thought. She had friends. She had a mother and a father. She had a younger brother, still in the lycée yet. She was in no shortage of attention. Her parents still called her once a week, making sure that their daughter was fine in Paris, such a city so different from their hometown of Arras.

No, she was not alone.

But yet…she was.

The dream had replaced the reality. Arthur, oh, Arthur, had warned her of this. He had warned her not to become too attached to the dream. Her perception of reality had been twisted, altered as easily as one can cut and sew fabric, and now…now reality could never hold her attentions now. The fates had severed the thread that held her to what others chose to see as reality. For Ariadne, now, the dream was the reality.

She supposed that she had been too weak of mind to undertake such a task as the inception. How else could she have fallen prey to that which she explicitly chose to avoid? She even recognized her own mistake, which could say rather a lot. But recognizing a mistake and being able to correct it are two totally different things.

Two other totally different things…were Arthur and Dominic Cobb.

Arthur was sensible; Arthur was secure. He was constantly impeccably dressed. He wore waistcoats in the twenty-first century! He slicked his hair. He was a gentleman. He teased her. He loved her. He held open doors for her.

Dom Cobb also had held open doors for her, but in a more metaphorical sense. He had given her the opportunity of the dream. She had succumbed to that which he had given to her, the drug that you could get addicted to by just having it once. He was dangerous. He let his coat fall to the ground instead of hanging it up. He forgot to fold his shirts so that they would not wrinkle.

Arthur was a mortal in every way. He could give her possibilities mortals would dream of. He had money. They could buy a house, with a white picket fence. They could get married, him in a carefully-ironed black suit and her in a pristine white dress. In a few years, perhaps, they could have children together. She would be safe wherever Arthur was.

Dom Cobb was rather more a god. He broke all of the rules, and never seemed to regret a single infraction upon authority. Perhaps it was because he was authority, and he never needed to regard the rules. Perhaps there were no rules that could restrain someone such as Dom Cobb. He got what he wanted, when he wanted it. He answered no questions. Yet, Ariadne looked to him, instead of to Arthur.

Dom Cobb had stolen her heart. She supposed it was a childish infatuation with someone infinitely more _worldly_ than she. Or perhaps it was love, and she was simply too childish to accept it.

Arthur had given her his heart. He was serious, yet as nervous as a teenager on his first date with the girl of his dreams. She felt love for him, too. Love like the kind that brought you white picket fences and retirement at sixty-five and five beautiful grandchildren.

Arthur was tangible; Dom Cobb was untouchable.

Arthur was in every way mortal; Dom Cobb was in every way immortal.

Ariadne supposed that it would be far more glorious to marry a god than a mortal.

Yet she could not bring herself to tell her feelings to Dom Cobb. It was not a question of nerves or shyness. No, it was a question of…security.

She liked control. She liked the dream, the ability to hold control over everybody's actions. The ability to choose what she wanted, how she wanted it.

Arthur offered control. Arthur offered security. Arthur offered her a loving husband that would never lie to her, would never betray her for the purposes of _experimentation_.

Inception, as it turned out, not only twisted dreams. It ruined lives.

So, Ariadne supposed…in the end…

Yes, it would be far more glorious to marry Dom Cobb than to marry Arthur.

But.

It would be far more _safe_ to marry Arthur.

He would let her be in control. He would not try to tell her how to be.

Dom Cobb, though…with his dreams and his inception and his very _self_…He would trick her. He would deceive her. He would not let her be herself.

For that was the danger with gods. They try to control everything themselves.

She would ignore the fates. She would ignore the gods. She would forget the glory. She would forget, however she could, the dreams.

Ariadne would choose the mortal.


End file.
